The Things We Sell
by Jaxter-the-poet
Summary: A look at the Jets before the Sharks, and hints at Anybody and other kids histories. Based on Officer K's calling them all immigrant rats. Bad language. AnybodysXOriginal Character. Plz R
1. The Tallest Man The Broadest Shoulders

A/N: No profit is being made of this, nor is malice intended. Features an original character, which I retain claim to. All rights reserved by the appropriate companies and individuals. All characters in West Side Story belong to their creators. I guess that I could lay claim to the basic plot of WSS as my own because it is based off Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and that play is based off old common-access romantic tragedies, but I'm content to just give you this story for now.

Chapter 1: The Tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders

"Anybodys. Bum a smoke off youse?"

She turned to glare at him, her head burning with the red light reflected off the street below, and with a shrug reached into her jacket, shook out a white tube and handed it to him. Then, as if reminded of her own cravings, she shook out another tube for herself and leaned forward to use the flame he offered. They slouched against the sun-warmed brick wall and stared down at their feet dangling over the edge of the wooden steps, down and out to the afternoon alleyway, and across to the hemorrhaging sun.

"So, you got your cig out of me, Stilts," She said between fierce puffs, "Ain't you gonna go on in and join em?"

He exhaled slowly, drawled out his vowels, "Ain't you?"

"Asshole," she murmured darkly, "I'm having a smoke."

"Think that's the best idea, buddy-boy? Don't you know they'll stunt your growth?" He stared at the crown of her head, half a foot shorter even when sitting, amused by the way she fairly shook with rage, refusing to accommodate others or to admit that others would not accommodate her.

"I'm keeping guard too."

"Yeah, you gonna protect us if any girl-scouts come around, looking for a fight?"

She flicked her cigarette ashes to the ground neatly and turned to glare at him, her fists clinching.

He chuckled softly, "Got something to say, sweetcheeks?"

"Yeah," she said, throwing her head back defiantly, "But youse probably too stupid to get it, you Polack son of a whore."

He reached a hand to his chest melodramatically, "Anybodys, I think you just broke my heart."

"Didn't know you had one, Stilts," She said, sucking at the filter now, acting and feeling mean. He stared at her intense profile: the long straight eyelashes, the short cropped hair, the lips like a fish as she pursed them together intently. And her body, tense in the narrow shoulders, her hips strangely wide and unbalanced with her feet long and too large to ever let her be pretty. That was the joke, that she was anybody's girl, but who'd want her? She wasn't too bad though, just strange, he decided finally. Not good, but not bad eithers.

Thinking, he felt calm, ready, like the fat summer storm that comes rolling into beat the city with self-contained assurity and calm. They were going to rumble, and they had to and he was going to fight and there was no way around the fact. His mom's mom used to say something in German- something meaning whatever will be, will be.

"What?" She barked, meeting his spacey gaze hostily.

He smirked to himself. Strange girl that one. Probably been told that her whole life. Like if Action was a chick. "My grandma used to have an expression about girls that wore pants. Said they always were looking to get inside another pair."

"Ain't you gonna get back to the game now, Stilts?" She said, her eyes glaring death threats, as she jerked her hand to the green rooftop door of Geetar's apartment. He lived with his slightly older brother and always could be trusted to find beer and cards for a poker game on a special night.

"They're too goddamn loud. I think I'm going to get a hangover tomorrow," He said as way of explanation.

"Ya should probably go in there soon, though." She said it lightly, her eyes dashing over to look at him.

"That so?" He mumbled.

She glanced over at him, held his gaze once he caught hers. She tried to shrug. "They don't really trust you that much. Ain't sure if they can."

"'Why? Cuz my brother used to be a Deuce?"

"'Cuz you'd rather have a smoke with me than get drunk and play poker."

He couldn't help but grin around the cigarette then, a little wolfishly. He decided he liked her better like this. Honest, self-effacing, willing to talk as one outcast to another. "That's not true, I'm plenty drunk now."

"Why you do it, Stilts?" She said in a voice so small he wasn't sure she said anything in words.

"Hell, you don't belong with them either," he said finally, crushing the butt under his toe. She let hers drop down to the street below, a tiny hiss of steam escaping inaudibly as it fizzled out against the wet pavement.

"Fuck you," She said, throwing her chin back, "I'd least I'd go in if they asked me to. At least I'm loyal."

"You telling me to go away," he said, his eyes half-lidded though he was standing up straight now, a broad hand gripping the warm bricks for balance. She knew what a threat looked like from him, but kept her shoulders squared, refusing to retract her anger, she nodded slightly.

"You say you're a Jet, go be a Jet," She said hotly.

"You say you're a Jet," he countered.

"I'm…keeping watch." She gestured inarticulately at the street.

"They're too fucking loud," He said, his voice rising adamantly.

She dropped his gaze, finally. His rage fell to the streets below, fizzling out against wet pavement. "Okay," She mouthed.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," She said, leaning against the wall again. He slouched next to her, careful to avoid eye contact. "I understand. Nervous about tomorrow."

He shrugged, "If it's gonna happen, you know, it's just going to. Nothing to do about it."

"Yeah," she said, "Still, I'm a little. Or dunno, maybe excited."

"Think they'll let ya fight?"

"Once it gets going, they can't do anything to stop me now can they?"

"So you'll hang around in some dark corner until you can get in on the action. But still you're scared," He whistled. "You're one funny girl."

"Yeah, your grandma got any expressions 'bout them?"

He smiled, glancing at her, "Why you wanna fight Anybodys?"

She shrugged, "Why do you?"

"It's different for me. I gotta. I'm not good for nothing else." He leaned his head against the wall," You know they didn't teach me anything in school You know how our schools are, pieces of shit with teachers that don't care, they wouldn't be working 'round here if they did care. I can't get a decent job like Tony can. I mean Tony, he's a good solid guy, grew up speaking English, but a lot of us, we got a little accent, we got funny last names that nobody can say. I can't pass."

She narrowed her eyes, "The factories."

"Oh Jesus god, the goddamn factories. I couldn't ever work there. I don't wanna give up my life. Not yet. Not like the guys you see around. Not like them." He pointed to a shadowed group of stoop-shouldered figures in the distance. "Come home, get drunk, yell at the kids, go right back to work. Die. That's it. That's all they do."

"That's it," she echoed.

"But it's different for you. You don't gotta worry 'bout that. You can get a job sewin stuff or selling things."

She laughed, a few dark breaths of air as she leaned the back of her head against the brick wall.

"What?" He said, offended.

She shook her head, tears rolling down her face.

"What the hell?" He grabbed her shoulders harshly as she shook, "What's so damn funny?" He'd told her everything about himself, how terrified he was in words he'd never said before, and all she could do was laugh at him.

She opened her eyes, "You really don't know me do ya Stilts?"

"Whaddya mean?"

Her dark eyes glistened with tears, "I can't sew a damn thing, and who do you know'd wanna buy something from me?"

She looked up at his face, dark in the backlit sunset. He did not laugh. She squirmed, feeling his fingers pressed tensely into her shoulders. She felt the sandy harsh ridges of the cheap brick tenements. "Stilts?" She said cautiously.

"What are you selling?" He murmured.

"Ya scared now Stilts?" She spat her words out like venom, finding his most tender wound and rubbing salt into it. She twisted her shoulders away from him, but he was not shocked anymore by her barbs.

He moved closer, peering into her brown eyes, "What are you trying to sell now, Anybodys? What're you trying to pull, wearin' your pants, smokin' all alone and acting like you belong here? Askin' me if I'm scared like…" He caught her flailing wrists, grasped for words, "like you're some tough shit. Like you know me. You dike."

She narrowed her eyes, "You're no mystery, Stiltsy-boy. You're not different from the rest of those guys in there. You're all pent up, just ready to explode, the only difference is you've got yourself convinced that you can handle all of it. That you ain't scared by what you feel. But you got your fears right here." She cocked her head in the direction of the factory district, "Right over there. I know you Stilts."

He released a wrist, shoved her back against the wall, his face inches away from hers. He remembered when the science class had gone to the planetarium one time. He remembered seeing a film of a star explode, and they'd said it had all been quiet. That it had taken millions of years for the signs under the surface to boil over. In one silent explosion.

He said the only word he could, "Dike."

"Pussy," She spat back, "You're just a big scared pussy."

Her breath smelled like tobacco. And he knew for the first time that he was scared for everything. He knew that she had done it to him too. And he hated her for that. Like a collision in space, like a violent eruption without sound, he brought his lips to hers.


	2. 1000 Pound Eyelid

All disclaimers apply

A/N: Yes indeed, the title of last chapter was from a Sufjan Stevens song. I only have one more chapter pre-written, so don't expect any quick updating after that. Now, chapter 2, it's not explicit, and not fluffy, but I believe that this contains what the young kids call a "love scene". Enjoy.

It tasted like tobacco and sweat and of the peculiar flavor of air when it is breathed in large sudden gasps. His teeth scraped her lips and made them swell and her nose struck his. And they could not breathe, until she slapped him hard across the cheek with her free hand.

"Fuck you Stilts," She whispered through her swollen lips, ran her fingers through the dark hair at the nape of his neck, and brought their mouths together again.

He found her bra underneath her shirt, fumbled with the button on her jeans. He groaned, and she kissed his neck.

"Anybodys," He said, and she pushed his hands away, fumbled with her belt, cursing low under her breath.

"Can you get it?" He whispered.

"It's jammed, oh fuck, I can't," She looked up at him, pausing.

"Do you need a knife?," He said, reaching into his pocket.

"I'm not cutting my belt just so that you can…" She sighed.

"Yeah," He agreed, running a hand hesitantly through his hair. "We shouldn't."

She pressed her lips to his, hands still fumbling with her belt. "We shouldn't talk about it," She cursed, "I can't see it. I just need some better light."

They were colliding again, he realized. They could not be stopped. He linked fingers with her, and mercifully she followed him, to the fire escape, down three levels, and through an open bedroom window. He reached for a small light on a smaller desk. The bed was unmade and the room smelled of him- grease, nicotine, and a bitter scent of sweat. He didn't know what to do as she fumbled with her belt next to the dim light. She paused to look up at him, "What?"

He nodded fiercely, closed the window, checked the lock on the door, and placed his shoes and jeans at the foot of the bed. She let out a sigh of victory and removed her belt. She looked distant in the full yellow light, her hair brown and not red or gold as he remembered. She looked nervous and he thought that somehow she wore her loosened shirt like she didn't know what to do with it.

She glanced at the bed, and bit her lip. "I'm kinda scared," He whispered. She nodded, "I know."

She smiled slightly, like an afterthought, "Me too. Stressed."

He crossed the room, kissed her hungrily. She melted into him, collapsed onto the bed, no longer unsure of what to do. Their coupling was short and intense- it seemed to last centuries. He entered her, his shirt unbuttoned, her shoes still on. They could not see each others faces in the dim light filtered through the yellow blinds. He wondered if perhaps it was better that way, that this be an anonymous frightened thing. Not making love, not screwing, not even fucking- because it was slow and sweaty but all too fast and there were none of the animal sounds that fucking meant. It was a space collision- sudden, alien and quiet in the vacuum.

When he withdrew from her finally, she fluttered her eyelids, kissing him languidly. She sighed, tired, as he swept a strand of short brown hair back from her too-high forehead.

"Anybodys," he said quietly, "What's your name?"

"Sazha. You?"

Polish, he thought without feeling surprise. "John. Johnathon."

She laughed, "Really?"

"Johannes."

"Yeah. Stilts is better."

He laughed silently, sending vibrations through her. "You like being Anybodys?"

She sighed, murmured quietly, "I ain't, I'm just…" The girl shook her head, sighed.

He turned to the side, resting his eyes on the white-washed walls, the places where it was smooth. He imagined it looked like paper, like a story waiting to be written. When he turned back to her, her brow was just as blank, lost in sleep.

He did not know if this was the first time she had been taken. The story was clear on the tense muscles of her jaw as she slept, that she had never been held before. Maybe, he didn't know. Maybe she'd been taken before by an uncle, a neighbor, a local boy, the list of suspects was long, and he wanted to know everything now.

He saw that the moon had begun to rise now, and he slowly disentangled himself, sat up and turned out the desk lamp. The filtered light kept him from sleeping. Beyond that, he was afraid now. He knew for the first time that he was afraid and that tomorrow, even if they won, they would lose.


	3. My Seventh Rib

A/N: Last chapter's title was from an excellent Chad VanGaalen song.

He stood by the window, and ran a long hand through his short hair. He cast about for her jacket, found it abandoned in the corner, and snuck a long white cylinder from the inner pocket. His jeans, his shoes, he slipped on, and he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt before he realized that he'd lost two along the way. He shrugged, sneaking through the window as quietly as his years of teenage rebellion had taught him to. He paused to think and snuck back through the window, grabbing her pants and placing them on the fire escape railing, locking the window from the outside.

When he came to the rooftop he sat on the wooden steps outside the green door, and lit his lighter. "Mind if I use that, Stilts?" A voice said brashly.

Stilts narrowed his eyes, and saw two familiar figures hunched up against the wall, wobbling tipsily. "Sure thing, A-Rab," He murmured, "You too, Snow-Boy?"

Snow-Boy shook his head, laughed, "I'm drunk off my ass, Stiltsy."

"Yeah, I could tell."

The second figure exhaled, wobbling a bit, "Where you been?"

"I, well you know, met up with Dot."

Snow-Boy laughed a little, "That who you're up to now?"

He winced slightly, anticipated Dot's anger when word got out, "Don't spread the word too far. She still lives with her mom."

"Oh yeah, the Baptist Bitch," Snow-Boy wobbled.

"Well looks like you did better than Snow-Boy here tonight," A-Rab said lightly. "Tell him what happened, Snow-Boy."

"Tank saw straight through my bluff. That dike."

"God, Snow, at least try and come up with a reasonable insult," A-Rab said, a bit too loud, "How the hell can Tank be a dike? He's gotta be a chick for that."

"Maybe… I dunno. Maybe he likes Anybodys and you know she's a dike so that makes him a…" Snow-Boy shook his head, "Oh just go screw yourself, A-Rab."

"Why should I, when I can just call up Dot on a moments notice?"

A-Rab looked at the fuming Stilts and laughed lightly, "I'm just messing with ya Stilts. Relax. I know she's a good girl."

The door banged into Stlts shoulder as Ice glanced around the rooftop. "Retard. Thank you can stand any closer to the door. Hey, you're back," He said, looking at Stilts. "Where you been man?"

"Oh, he's been entertaining himself. You know just letting some off," A-Rab laughed throatily as he extinguished his cigarette under his foot.

"Oh," Ice said, grinning half-heartedly, "Well, that's better than losing fifteen bucks I guess."

"Who's left?" A-Rab asked, interested.

"Gee-Tar, Riff, and Gee-Tar's brother now," Ice said, "But Action just brought in a new case of beer if ya'll want some, and some more food I think."

"Sounds good," A-Rab said. He turned to Snow-Boy, "Come on, let's get you back in there."

Snow-Boy and A-Rab hobbled past Ice into the long hallway beyond. Ice caught the back of his shirt before he turned and held him. "You smell like her cigarettes, Stilts," Ice said, almost whispering.

"Yeah, I borrowed some from Anybodys," Stilts said, shrugging him off.

"You smell like them all over. And sex."

Stilts turned to look him square in the eye, "What are you trying to say?"

Ice shrugged, "Riff won't believe you anymore than I do. I'm trying to say that maybe you'd best just go on home."

He ran a hand through his hair, "She's still there."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Asleep?"

He nodded.

"You can crash at my place, I guess," Ice said. You know where that is, right?"

"Why are we staying late like this, doing stupid shit now? We got a rumble tomorrow."

Ice shrugged, smiled thinly, "Cuz we got a rumble tomorrow."

"I guess that's a pretty good reason," Stilts nodded. "It makes you do some really stupid stuff, huh?"

"Yeah, well you can tell me about that," Ice said. He frowned seeing Stilt's serious expression. "Or, I don't know, some things that we wouldn't have the guts to do otherwise."

"Nah, it was stupid. I don't even know her. She was just… she made me realize how scared I was."

"I ain't here to judge ya Stilts," Ice said, his voice low and calm.

"I don't fucking know her."

"No one really does. She just showed up one day when I was playing with Riff and Tony and Action. Back when we was all real young, about a year or two before Gee-Tar's brother and their group formed the Jets. She's been with the Jets long as we have, never gave no real name, nothing."

"Nothing?" Stilts echoed.

Ice shrugged, "She's loyal, she tries hard, she pisses us off by being around. That's all you gotta know to know someone. That's what she does."


End file.
